What Does Math Have To Do With Love?
by indiechiquegeek
Summary: Newton Geiszler got into MIT at 14. Newton Geiszler was touring universities, giving guest presentations, at 17. Newton Geiszler could certainly find his soulmate, especially with a little bit of elbow grease.
1. Chapter 1

Newton Geiszler was going to meet his soul mate someday.

Well, okay. No shit he was. Of course he was going to- he knew that for a fact, when his soul mate's words were written across the inside of his forearm. He was like almost everyone else in this world in that aspect.

What he really meant was that he was going to try his darned best to _meet_ his soulmate, not just…run in to them. A lot of people were okay with that, and he was okay that they were okay with it- but he wasn't, not for himself. He was a go-getter. He always had been! He had to be; his mother had left when he was young, his father worked full time, and there was only so much his uncle could do for him. He learned fairly young that he needed to go after what he wanted, if he really wanted it.

Hell, he'd gotten into MIT at the age of 14- 14!- because of his drive. Something like getting in to MIT wasn't a guarantee, the way having someone else's words scribbled on you guaranteed finding them and loving them and being happy with them. He figured if he could succeed so well at something not guaranteed in life, surely something like meeting your soulmate would be a snap, especially with a little bit of elbow grease, right?

Well.

Well…

When Newton Geiszler was in the first grade, his best friend found her soul mate. They had a new student transfer in from Jüterbog, which he thought was funny, because his dad had told him just the other night about an old dance that sure did sound a lot like that word, and was he sure they didn't name the town after the dance? Or maybe the dance after the town? And he had thought it was funny, so he was giggling when the new boy, Elias, was introduced by the teacher. He thought that the name of the town that he was from was funny, but what was even funnier was when the boy was so scared that he couldn't get a word out. It wasn't as funny when he started crying, but Hanna, his best friend, punched him in the arm, because she was just like that, and he liked that she was just like that, and raised her hand, and said "Can Elias sit next to me?" And even though he was still crying, Elias looked up at Hanna, sniffling, hiccupping, and still not saying a word. When their teacher helped him over to his seat, and he sat down, he had looked at Hanna and gave her a somewhat-toothy grin- only somewhat, because he was missing at least two, as far as Newt could tell- and said, "Thanks for letting me sit next to you." And Hanna gave him a somewhat-only-slightly-more-toothy grin- only somewhat only slightly more because she was missing just one- and pulled up her sleeve and yelled "You said the thing!" Which caused a whole lot of commotion in their room full of six year olds, firstly because someone was yelling for what appeared to be no good reason, secondly because once the teacher caught wind of what was going on, she needed to call the parents, which meant she had to leave the classroom, which meant everyone who was yelling before was _really_ yelling now, which meant-

Well, Newt didn't really know what it meant. But he knew a friend of Hanna's was a friend of his, and he was just excited to have a new friend. Also, he liked yelling.

He had been excited- it stood to reason, to him, that if his friend found her soul mate at 6 years old, and his parents had found each other when they were 18, if you averaged those numbers out…surely he'd meet his soul mate by 12!

Then he turned 12.

When Newton Geiszler turned 12, his other best friend met his soul mate. They had been on a field trip to the Deutsches Museum in Munich, a trip which filled Newt with excitement, because his uncle was starting to teach him about machinery, and he hoped that they could watch the high-voltage display. He needed to take some notes- he was studying electrical currencies in his free time at this point, what made people and things tick, and was hoping that after their trip, he'd have the know-how that would help him keep a severed frog's heart beating after being carved out of the frog itself. His father found this particular path of inquisition one of Newt's most disgusting, so he was banished to the backyard whenever he did his experiments. He didn't seem to be able to sustain a high enough voltage to keep the heart beating, and he had to say, after the third heart exploded in his face, he didn't blame anyone for making him stand outside in the November chill while he dissected frogs.

His other best friend was a lanky blonde boy named Max, who was a year older than him, which made him feel better when Newt was 11 and the other boy was 12 and still hadn't found his soulmate. It hadn't occurred to Newt yet that maybe, just maybe, statistics and averages and medians weren't the best things to depend on when it came to love. While they explored one of the cafes at the museum, the teachers taking a much-deserved break, Max and Newt wandered to the pastry display. They pressed their faces up to the glass, much to the chagrin of the worker behind the counter, who had no doubt just finished wiping the pane down. They ooh'd and aah'd over some particularly nice-looking crumpets, when Newt felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and spotted the short, demure brunet boy who had dared offend his personal space. The boy coughed, catching Max's attention.

"Excuse me, could I look at the cookies?"

Newt hummed lowly and scooted over to make some room in front of the display, but Max didn't. Of course he didn't. And that was why Newt had moved over. Because, wise in his age as he was, dedicated to his friends as he had always been, he knew precisely what was written on his friend's arm. What he didn't know was what the other boy's arm said, so he waited for Max to speak up. Max was about as good with words as Newton was.

"Do you like pastries, too?" he blurted out.

Now Newt was 27. He had given up on statistics. As a whole, he wasn't overly fond of math, but he had to say, hanging on to some ridiculous notion of math playing in to love after two decades of being proved otherwise had really soured his view on the subject. Instead, he did his best to meet as many people as possible, constantly moving around and accepting new jobs as they came to him. After graduating from MIT at the age of 16, teaching for a few years there, watching students and faculty and others come and go, he moved to San Francisco, all the way to the other side of a country he was still becoming familiar with. He worked at a few school out there, began publishing his works in biology and immunity studies in papers, even receiving some positive feedback on minor discoveries he made in the process. He gave presentations as a guest speaker on other campuses, met with professors and students interested in his work, was interested in meeting new people only as long as their first sentence lasted, until he knew they weren't meant for him. He was twitchy and short-tempered and impatient. The worst of his personality was coming out in the worst of ways, and he hated it.

So he changed.

He met friends at bars and drank with strangers. He got tattoos- lots of them, all dancing around his arms and teasing the edges of his soulmate tattoo- and pierced his ears. He let the holes close, then got more tattoos. He painted his nails. He rebelled. He wanted to be himself, but the "himself" that people always expected of him, he found, had a fake friendly demeanor. He couldn't focus on someone long enough to make friends with them, so he was lonely. He worked, and worked, and worked, and eventually, found himself much happier with who he allowed himself to be in front of others. So what if he was loud, and brash, and not at all what people thought of when they heard "kid-genius-turned-adult-super-biologist?" He found himself much less lonely when, at the very least, he could be friends with himself.

Still, those words were never said to him.

When he was 25, he decided to move to Hong Kong. Well, he didn't "decide," so much as "was offered a ridiculous amount of money to study on an internationally cooperative military base where he'd have his own lab." How could he say no to his own lab _and_ a ridiculous amount of money? He packed up, said goodbye to the few State-side friends that he kept in contact with, and moved on-base. For two years, he worked, every day. He focused on dissecting and mutilating and, occasionally, went out for another tattoo.

Now…now, Newton Geiszler was 27 years old. And his boss, a tall, stern man named Pentecost who kind-of sort-of intimidated Newt, told him that he was getting a lab partner.


	2. Chapter 2

When Hermann Gottlieb was 17, he was sure he never wanted to meet his soulmate.

Words were by no means his forte. He had grown up with an older brother, a younger brother, and a younger sister who had stolen everyone's hearts as soon as she was born. He surmised early on that the best way to get his parents' attention would be to return the vicious bullying that his brothers put him through, but he could never muster the courage- or rather, the cowardice- to do so. His let his brain do the talking. He was used to the quiet of sitting alone in his bedroom while his siblings fought loudly in the kitchen at night, the only break in silence the sound of a pencil sharpener as he scribbled and filled notebooks with mathematical theories. If he didn't talk to his family, they didn't have to notice how different he was.

He knew he loved numbers. He knew it. He knew that if he didn't already have a tattoo on his forearm, surely numbers would have been his soul mate. Numbers made sense and followed rules the way that nothing else did. Math was always true, all you had to do was prove it. There was no changing numbers, no fighting numbers, no dismissing numbers. They were there, and they were true.

When Hermann was 4, he asked his parents to read his tattoo to him. He didn't know what the words meant- rather, he didn't know how to read them, how to interpret them- but he knew he was the boy in his class who could count the highest, and could write out the most numbers (even if he couldn't write out as high as he could count, he knew that was okay, writing about numbers was hard but thinking about numbers was easy), and his favourite number was probably four, because two plus two was four, but two _times_ two was also four, and wasn't that just the coolest thing? So his parents read him his tattoo, and he didn't understand, but thought maybe it was pretty cool that his soulmate knew about numbers, too, because of what it said, so maybe someday, they could talk about numbers together. He'd really like that.

When Hermann Gottlieb was 16, he graduated high school. When he was 17, he was accepted to the Technical University of Berlin. When he was 21, he had a PhD and three baccalaureates. What he didn't have was a soul mate, but he was okay with that.

His oldest brother, Dieterich, had met his soul mate when he was 16 and Hermann was 12. Dieterich's soul mate was red haired and fiery and wild, and Dieterich loved her on sight. Felda loved him back. Felda loved him back until they were both 19, when she jumped off a bridge near Ettal, and then Dietrich stopped loving anyone. Hermann didn't think he wanted to love anyone, either, if it could end like that.

When Hermann was 17, and was accepted to university, he was sure he never wanted to meet his soul mate. He liked numbers, yes, thank you very much, and in fact, in some circles, was quite celebrated for his love of numbers. He was smart, sure, and didn't let himself feel lonely any more, sure. He made friends in university, friends who understood him and his numbers and maybe not his mind, but they at least tried, and didn't push him against the refrigerator when they didn't understand his mind like his younger brother had when Hermann was 11.

He liked numbers because they made sense. He was smart because he understood numbers, and there was no way that a grown man would ever again tolerate someone dismissing his understanding.

When Hermann Gottlieb was 21, and had his PhD and three baccalaureates, thank you very much, he published a unique visualization of the Collatz Conjecture, and suddenly, everyone wanted to understand Hermann's understanding. He traveled to America, then France, then Bulgaria, giving lectures on numbers and proofs and how numbers sometimes didn't have proofs- all very simple stuff, really, but he loved it, and people loved listening to him (sometimes), and traveling was pretty fun.

When Hermann Gottlieb was 24, he spent a year in a hospital.

One day, on a cool August night, he was hit by a car. He remembered waiting at a red crosswalk signal, then seeing the green crosswalk signal, then seeing a black car. Then he remembered waking up in a hospital bed, four days later, his right leg up to his hip covered in a cast, his back totally numb, and tubes coming out of his hands. He remembered being told he'd probably never walk again, and remember saying, maybe out loud or maybe just in his head, "That's a load of bullshit." He remembered two months of bed rest, nine months of physical therapy, and two days of fighting the cane that was placed in his hands.

And then, one day the next August, he was out of the hospital.

Hermann went back to work that September. He worked at a school back in Germany for a few months, then went back to America, to New York, and then California. He worked at the state school in San Jose, in their Masters of Statistics school, for a year. He loved math, but his favorite math was statistics. He made friends- sort of. If occasionally hanging out with the grad STEM students counted as making friends. If occasionally going to a bar with his fellow mathematics professors counted as making friends.

When Hermann Gottlieb was 28, he decided to move to Hong Kong. Well, he didn't "decide," so much as "was offered a ridiculous amount of money to study on an internationally cooperative military base where he'd have access to a supercomputer capable of running numbers faster than he had ever imagined possible and a chalkboard larger than his current apartment, for when he got tired of letting a computer work his numbers for him."

He packed up, said goodbye to the few State-side friends that he kept in contact with, and moved on-base. For the first week, he settled in, unpacking boxes and hooking up his computer and television and refrigerator and microwave in an apartment that was just big enough for him to work in and just small enough to remind him of home.

On day eight, he dressed in a pair of slacks, some sensible shoes, a button up shirt, and made his way to the office of his superior, a tall, stern man named Pentecost who kind-of sort-of intimidated Hermann. Pentecost intimidated him, but Pentecost also respected him, so he respected Pentecost. The other man led him out of the office, not bothering to offer any assistance to Hermann, which he greatly appreciated. If he wasn't offered assistance, he didn't have to firmly turn down assistance, while reminding a man who could likely fire him and make sure he never worked again that the cane was there for the assistance, thank you very much.

He followed Pentecost down a wide, winding hallway, then down some stairs, then down another wide hallway, then some more stairs, until they were firmly at least two stories underground, and Hermann was hoping there was a nurse's station somewhere on this base, and hopefully a nurse's station two stories' worth of stairs under the ground, because his leg was aching something terrible and he could really use some ibuprofen, or maybe something stronger.

When Pentacost set open a pair of automatic doors into a room large enough to fit at least one plane, maybe two, the first thing that Hermann Gottlieb noticed was the smell. It wasn't a pleasant smell- in fact, it was the exact opposite of a pleasant smell- but was also something so unusual and assaultingly foul that he couldn't tell if the level of vulgarity was because of the smell or the sheer volume of it. Pentacost, for what it was worth, seemed unmarred by the smell, but Pentacost, for what it was worth, also didn't have to share a lab with whatever- or whoever- was making the smell.

The second thing that Hermann Gottlieb noticed was, in fact, the source of the smell. Thrown across one table- actually, thrown across one table and a good chunk of the floor beneath the table- was some sort of animal. No, not an animal. A fish? An octopus, maybe? Well, whatever it was- whatever it had been- was unceremoniously sliced open, and he didn't have to guess that the smell was coming from whatever organs were currently being cut out of it.

The third thing that Hermann Gottlieb noticed was a hunched over figure, back to the pair that had just interrupted them, one hand in the air holding…. maybe some sort of cephalopod tentacle, maybe the remains of a gut track, maybe something so much worse. The other hand held a dissection knife. Pentacost cleared his throat.

" ? Dr. Gottlieb is here. He's the statistician that I informed you last week you'd be sharing your lab space with. When I informed you that you'd have to share a lab with another person and asked you to clean up your mess?"

Dr. Geiszler turned around. Doctor? Was that right? Hermann wasn't so sure. The man was covered in tattoos, from his arms all the way up to what Hermann assumed was tattoo ink peeking out from under his shirt collar. He assumed it was tattoo ink and not cephalopod ink, because he assumed that the cephalopod- if that's what it was- had been dead for quite some time and wasn't shooting any ink. He wasn't wearing a lab coat, and though Hermann wasn't a scientist- something he was rather grateful for right in that moment- he knew that something like dissecting an animal usually required wearing a sterilized lab coat. Instead, the man was wearing a white button-down shirt, which might have been interpreted as professional, except the sleeves were rolled all the way up, which was how Hermann knew his arms were covered in those tattoos that went probably up to his neck.

Hermann took an instant disliking to him.

The man grinned, a wide smile that said he was blissfully unaware of how unprofessional he was being in that moment.

"So, like, you have a thing for numbers?"

Hermann's brain stalled for the first time in his life, and then he pressed his lips into a thin line, because he knew those words, of course he knew those words, and Hermann Gottlieb was sure at the age of 17 that he wasn't going to like whoever said those words to him.

"There's no way I'm working with this man."


	3. Chapter 3

Newt had to admit, this wasn't at all how he planned on meeting his soulmate.

He couldn't remember the first time that he learned- or rather, fully absorbed- what his arm said, what the words _said_ , but he certainly never thought that they'd be said in quite that _way_.

"There's no way I'm working with this man."

Well, there was a lot of different ways to interpret that, right? Once he started getting famous- you know, in the way scientists do, which is to say, not at all, except in their own circles- he thought maybe it was going to be said in awe. As in, maybe, "there's no way I get to work with this man, it must be a dream!"

Or maybe, "there's no way I'm working with this _man_ ," said, also, in awe, as in there was no way his soulmate believed that Newton Geiszler was actually a mortal man, but maybe some sort of god come down from the heavens to grace everyone with his beauty and rock star-like brilliance.

This was his favorite interpretation.

But soulmate tattoos didn't come with interpretations, and maybe that's where a lot of disappointment in this life came from. Maybe. All that he knew was that he had never quite imagined those words being said to him _in that way_ , with disgust. "There's no way I'm working with this man," said as if, well, as if he didn't want to work with him.

Hm. Imagine that.

Usually he was a man of action, but he could excuse himself a few moments of stillness as he stared at the man that was, indeed, his soulmate. He was tall and lanky and all sorts of other clichés. His face was long with sharp angles and thin lips but a strong nose and ears that were a little too large for Newt's liking. His hair looked like maybe- god forbid, he hoped not, but maybe- a bowl had been put over it a few weeks ago to get cut, and it had grown out messily since then in defiance of such an offense. He leaned heavily on a cane, boney hand gripped around the handle. He wore a pair of slacks, some very, very sensible shoes, and a button up shirt.

Newton Geiszler was sure he'd never seen a more beautiful man in his life.

The moment his brain caught up with his body, he was scrambling away from the table, throwing the tentacle and knife on it, and taking large strides to close the space between them. What did someone usually do when they first met their soulmate? Suddenly Newt had not even an inkling of an idea. Certainly you didn't kiss them, right? Right? Did you hug them? He half lifted his arms like he was going to do just that, but thought better. A handshake? Maybe a handshake was good. Was that too formal? He went to grab the other man's free hand, then thought better of that, too. He let out a nervous laugh and ruffled his hair.

Ignoring the words that had just been spoken, that had also incidentally been tattooed on his body his entire life, he settled on clasping his hands behind his back. At least there, they'd stay out of the way.

"Hey! Hi! I, uh- well, I'm Newton Geiszler- Dr. Geiszler, as ol' Pentecost here likes to call me, that ol' so-and-so. But you- well, you can call me Newt! Hell, you can call me whatever you want, just don't- don't call me late for dinner! Ha!"

The other man- Dr. Gottlieb, as Pentecost had introduced him- pressed his lips together even thinner. He eyed him up and down, and Newt had never been so self-conscious in his life. He could feel each part of himself being scrutinized, could watch and feel as those eyes- really, a very pretty brown, with a gold, honey-like tint- went from one tattooed forearm to the other, to his loose tie and two-top-buttons-unbuttoned shirt, to a stain on his shirt that, on a positive note, was fresh, but, on a negative note, was blood that did not in fact belong to him nor any other human being.

"No, I don't think I'll be doing that."

It took Newt a solid five seconds for him to realize that the other probably meant calling him by his first name. Well, hopefully he didn't mean the dinner thing, because Newt was already sure asking the other on a date was on his horizon, and hopefully dinner was part of that date, and if the other was already saying no to dinner-

Well, hopefully he was getting ahead of himself.

Pentecost was watching all of this with a politely bored expression, apparently none the wiser to what was really going on. He gave a curt nod, then passed his eyes over the trashed lab space. Newt wasn't even looking at him, but was definitely more conscious of the amount of mess that there was. Did it smell, too? Oh god, it probably did.

"Then I'll leave you two to it. Geiszler, I expect this lab to be cleaned by tomorrow."

Newt still hadn't looked at Pentecost, but neither had… Dr. Gottlieb. They were still staring at each other as Pentecost went back through the automatic doors, muttering something that sounded distinctly impolite about biologists and smells.

Finally, finally, the other looked around his- their- lab space, one eyebrow raised and nose slowly but surely wrinkling up. Newt wiped his hands on his shirt- bad! Those are where the stains are from, Newt!- and finally offered one up for a shake. Surely, they weren't going to pretend that they weren't meant to, well, love each other for the rest of their lives.

"So, uh, like I said, I'm Newt. But I don't- I don't think I caught your first name? Dr. Gottlieb? Hey, your first name isn't 'Doctor,' is it? Can you imagine that? Ha!"

The statistician finally, finally looked back to Newt and finally, finally held his free hand out. The first thing that the biologist noticed as he took it was that the hand didn't feel nearly as boney as it looked, though it definitely felt boney. The second thing that he noticed was how dry the hand felt. He was sure that the other wasn't going to answer him at all, but he finally spoke up again.

"No, it isn't. My name is Doctor Hermann Gottlieb." At the very least, his voice was starting to warm up to him, even if the rest of his body clearly said that he was wishing his soulmate wasn't someone who had squid blood on his shirt. Newt gave him a huge, toothy smile and vigorously shook his hand.

"Well, Herms!" He ignored the grimace on the man's face. "Welcome to what I fondly call, the K-Science Lab!"

He could see several emotions cross that face, but curiosity beat all the rest out. "Why K-Science?"

Newt let his hand go and put his hands on his hips. "Well, you know- The answer to that is kind of complicated, see, it's that-

Well, I don't really know. Totally made it up because it sounds cool. But it _does_ sound cool, doesn't it?" He leaned in conspiratorially. "I call the whole building the Shatterdome. Tell me that doesn't sound dope as fuck!"

Ah, yes. There was that nose wrinkle again. Newton thought it was pretty cute.

"Yes, well. Okay. Well." Newt watched the other fix his shirt, absolutely fascinated. "Seeing as we're going to be sharing this space for the foreseeable future, I do hope you clean up your…. mess." The nose went up again. "And do make sure to call me _Doctor_ Gottlieb, if you please." Leaning heavily on his cane, he made his way over to an empty desk on the other side of the lab, close to a comically large chalkboard that Newton had always ignored.

Newt stared after him for a long, long moment, not totally sure he was understanding what was happening. After giving his brain another moment to catch up, he followed after him.

"Whoa- Whoa there! Hold on." He skirted around the table of squid and surgical equipment to the desk that the man was pulling a chair out from. "Are we- uh. I mean. Can we- Uh. Don't you think-" Wrong. What was the right thing to say right now? Hermann pulled the chair all the way out. He gripped the desk as he sank in to it, sticking his right leg out and leaning his cane against the desk.

Hermann sighed as he dug a few of his fingers into his upper right calf. He mumbled a few curses under his breath, ones that Newt hoped was more about his leg than him, and looked up at him. Though it was only late morning, the man looked tired. What seemed too late, Newton realized that, obviously, something was wrong with his leg, and whatever that something was, it was bothering him right now. The biologist went to grab for- what? His leg? His shoulders? His hand? One look from the other told him none of those were very smart options right now.

Newt pulled out a nearby chair and carefully sat down in it.

"Look…. Dr. Geiszler. I have lived 28 long years on this earth with this God-forsaken tattoo; I promise you, whatever you're thinking, I'm not unaware of who or what you are." For some reason, this relieved Newt. In theory, he knew that the other knew that they were soulmates. In practice…

"That doesn't change the fact that I've also lived six years on this earth with three undergraduate degrees and one PhD. I've worked hard to get to the point where I'd be sought after and offered a job like this one, and I won't have something like…. like this-" he waved a hand in the space between them- "ruin my reputation."

He had to admit, that sort of hurt.

But not for too long.

"That being said, I am not averse to doing personal things on my personal time." He gave Newt a long moment- seemingly to totally misunderstand what he was saying, because it wasn't until the biologist's face started warming up that he corrected, "Which is to say-! Doing this whole…. soulmate thing-"

'This whole soulmate thing,' Newt guessed, was anything and everything having to do with a little thing called love, as it were. He, of course, completely disagreed with the notion that Hermann seemed to be suggesting. The notion that, somehow, he was supposed to just…. ignore his soulmate, while they worked together? He had a feeling that that was what was being suggested right now.

Hermann cleared his throat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few things to unpack, and I'm going to need to find a ladder somewhere in this ridiculous building if I want to use this chalkboard to its full potential, and some chalk certainly wouldn't hurt- "

Newton stood up, knocking the chair behind him and startling Hermann. "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

Hermann didn't like being interrupted. He supposed he would let it slide, this one time, but soon enough, he'd have to be sure to let Newton know that he didn't like being interrupted. Newton didn't know this right now, though, so he rocked on the balls of his feet as he loomed over the seated figure, letting the silence drag out because every once in a while, he knew when it was necessary to _shut up,_ even if shutting up meant that right now, in this very moment, he was a little worried that the answer might be no, that somehow Hermann already had plans, or somehow Hermann didn't have plans and just had something better to do on a weekday night than go out to dinner with him, or somehow-

"I suppose I would like that, yes."


	4. Chapter 4

He would be lying if he said that he'd never wondered how well the whole soulmate thing worked out for some people.

Newton's mother had left their family when he was fairly young, that much was true. But the few memories that he did have of her and his father were happy ones. They didn't seem miserable. There were bad people in this world, and it stood to reason that most or at the very least some of them had soulmates, so it also stood to reason that maybe sometimes the universe, in fact, did not know what it was doing when it stuck two people together.

Newt knew for certain that it knew what it was doing when it stuck him with Hermann Gottlieb.

That night, on their very first date, Newt took Hermann out to a German restaurant, a nice, quiet, sit down place, and took absolutely no offense to Hermann admitting pleasant surprise at his taste in atmosphere. The night was rather cool, so Newt had worn a classy, dark turquoise tweed jacket over a shirt that he'd decided to actually button all the way up and wear a tie with. He couldn't be wrestled from his beloved jeans, no matter the occasion, but to be totally fair, he didn't think he owned any other sort of bottoms.

Hermann had not changed out of his work clothes. One didn't have to dress up for a date if they dressed properly in the first place, he was sure.

Newt still thought he was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.

He was all sharp angles and refinery and surprising wit and charm when he wasn't busy being worried about work-place propriety. Newton took him to Schnurrbart, more of a pub than a restaurant, really, but even sitting at the bar was cozy, and they had a good selection of beers, which was all that seemed to really matter to the two Germans.

They ordered drinks and appetizers all night, and Newt couldn't help but brag about his suggestions that had been integrated into the menu at various points throughout his two years spent in Hong Kong, frequenting the bar, and how all of the new recipes were "totally the shit" because of his input.

They talked and swapped stories all night, and Hermann couldn't help but share the story of his brother's lost love, of how death had marred his perception of love, how suicide seemed like such a silly thing at the time, when they had lost Felda, and then less so, when he had spent two months straight in a hospital bed. He let Newton take his hand then, and let him continue to hold it whenever they weren't eating or drinking or, at one point, throwing darts at a target board on the wall.

There was a soft din of background noise all night, some clattering plates and other people's conversations, but neither seemed to take much of any notice. It all felt like white noise to Newt.

Hermann rolled his eyes more than a few times, but when he wasn't rolling his eyes at Newt's over exaggeration and eager hand movements that matched whatever he was saying, he had a soft, easy smile stretched across his face.

When Newt admitted that he was a little nervous- which may or may not have been why he was talking and acting the way he was, Hermann really had no idea if the other was always like this, because in all fairness, his first words to him were "So, like, you have a thing for numbers?," so that had sort of set up a certain precedence, in his mind- Hermann firmly and squarely told him not to be ridiculous, because from a completely logical point of view, they both knew that they'd (probably) be spending the rest of their lives together, so what was the point?

When they were full of food and only slightly less full of beer, they decided to walk back to the Shatterdome, which Hermann would never admit out loud was a name that was starting to stick in his mind, because it was admittedly, as Newt had said, "dope as fuck." It was less than a mile of a walk, and a good in-between point from each of their apartments, and besides, after hours of eating, neither had the money for a cab home nor the inclination to sit still.

They walked at a leisurely pace, only slightly intoxicated, holding hands. Newt didn't ever think he would be the sappy type, but he definitely noticed that Hermann's boney fingers fit quite nicely between his (and maybe, while only slightly intoxicated, Hermann would admit, possibly out loud, that Newton's hands were warm and soft and he liked how their hands could be comfortable while clasped so tight that their palms met).

They went slowly because after several beers and sitting for the better part of four hours, Hermann's hip and leg were bothering him, and while his left hand was clasped tightly in Newt's, his right hand was clasped tightly to his cane handle. He found that he didn't care about his right hand so much in the present moment as he did his left.

They went slowly, but still much too quickly for either of their liking, because within half an hour, they were stopped in front of the front doors to the Shatterdome. Newt suggested that he walk Hermann the few extra blocks to his apartment, and though it was getting cold fast and it was unfair to ask him to walk those few extra blocks in the opposite direction of his own apartment, Hermann agreed to just that.

But first, he insisted that they sit down on a bench overlooking Victoria Harbour, so that he could give his leg a break.

They made their way to a bench (well, Hermann made his way, Newt followed) overlooking the harbour and sat down. Newt took a moment for a breather- his head was full of a fair mixture of Hermann and beer- and carefully, making sure to give himself time to back out if it was the wrong move to make, laid his head on Hermann's shoulder.

The other laid his head on top of his almost immediately.

Newt let out a sleepy, content little sigh. He closed his eyes and gave Hermann's hand a squeeze.

"Is it weird if I say this is most comfortable I've ever felt in my whole life? I mean, not for nothing, I had this bed in college, it was, like, made of this weird memory-foam stuff, you know? Super soft, very nice- set me back a good thousand dollars, but totally worth it. You know how important sleep was in school, when you could get it, yeah? Blowing a few hundred dollars on a mattress doesn't seem so bad when it gives you the best four hours of sleep you can find in college. But like, that thousand-dollar mattress has nothing on this bench right now. Is that weird to say?"

Hermann didn't seem to think it was weird enough to comment on immediately, at the very least, because all he did for a moment was let out a little hum. Newt peeked up at him, or at least tried to, but found that keeping his head comfortably down was most important right now.

"I don't think it's weird," Hermann eventually said. Newt closed his eyes again. "I think it makes sense. Scientifically speaking, of course." Of course. He chuckled. "In theory, we've spent our whole lives waiting for each other, yes? And we've known this. Anyone with a tattoo is told from a very young age that there is someone out there for them that they will be happy with- whether or not that part is true is another thing, but let's ignore that for now- because they are meant to be together. So, it makes sense, yes, that everyone with a tattoo might find some dissatisfaction with their lives until they find their soulmate-" He cleared his throat at this point- "Though I must admit, I was never one to find dissatisfaction with myself just because I was supposed to find happiness with someone else. But this anxiety no doubt manifests itself, even if you're not aware of it, in some sense." He laughed. "So, comfortable mattress or no, it seems sensible to me to feel a certain sense of unfamiliar...comfort."

It was the most logical way Newt had ever heard someone talk about soulmates.

He lifted his head, forcing the other to do the same, and squinted at him.

"I'd really like to kiss you right now, dude." He sounded put out about it, for a reason indiscernible to either of them. Hermann seemed displeased with this tone, so the statistician leaned his head down and pressed their lips together.

Newt had to admit that he had never kissed anyone in his life- he was one of those people, preferring to wait for his soulmate and focus on other things besides dating while he waited, unlike some people, who didn't mind experimenting and learning about love and sex while they waited to meet their soulmates. He could see the scientific appeal to that approach, but he had never gone down that path. He couldn't say he was displeased with this choice, because he thought that kissing Hermann Gottlieb was worth the wait.

It was soft, the nerves fluttering even softer in his stomach. It was sweet, though he could taste the glass of eisbock that they had shared before they left the bar. Hermann put a hand on his leg, and Newt pet a hand through the soft locks at the back of the other's head, and they were both sure they never wanted the kiss to end. Newt closed his eyes, and found that it was difficult to open them even after Hermann had started pulling away.

He could hear a soft, easy sigh, and when he managed to open his eyes again, Hermann was stretching out his right leg, a warm smile on his face while he kneaded the fingers of one hand into his leg. The other stayed comfortably on Newt's leg.

"I think I'm ready to get up again."

Though he was finding it a little difficult to think coherently post-kiss, Newton stood up, helping Hermann up and taking the other's hand even before it was finished being offered to him. They walked the remaining few blocks, even more slowly than before, speaking so softly to each other that they had to lean their heads together to hear despite the cold, quiet night air.

When Hermann informed him that the next apartment block was his, Newt felt a completely undeniable sense of dread. Maybe dread wasn't quite right- more like disappointment. It stood to reason that the night had to end eventually, after all. He found that he was disappointed it was ending right then.

They stopped in front of the gates to the complex, a set of concrete and windows and ivy not entirely unlike his own building. Hermann turned to him and leaned his head down, and after a moment, Newt figured he was supposed to initiate this kiss.

It was even better than the first. Newt hoped every kiss with this man was better than the last.

A soft hiss of air emptied out of his chest as Hermann pulled away, muttering a quiet "Good night" as he turned and hobbled towards the front door. He watched him pull a little set of keys out of his pocket, fumble with them for a moment, then unlock the front door to the building. He turned and it was only through the miracle of prescription eyeglasses that Newt could spot the dopey, warm, soft, wonderful smile on his face. Newt pressed his fingers against his lips and blew him a kiss- Hermann rolled his eyes, with the same wonderful smile still on his face, and finally closed the door behind him.

Newt didn't remember walking back to his apartment, didn't remember unlocking the building door, didn't remember climbing several flights of stairs, nor unlocking his own apartment door. All that he knew was that the next coherent moment, he was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, hand over his chest, lips parted.

All that he knew was that he was completely in love with Hermann Gottlieb.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermann Gottlieb was finding out that no matter what the universe thought, sometimes two people could love each other and be soul mates and still find each other absolutely insufferable for approximately eight hours a day.

On day two of having Newton Geiszler as a soul mate, he started to surmise that, despite the urging of both him and their superior, Newton was, in fact, not going to clean up the lab.

One day five, he knew this for a fact.

On day nine, he was so sick of this fact that he got to the lab an hour early with a roll of yellow tape and, through lots of cursing and hobbling and kneeling and taking much too long to get up for someone of his age, split the room squarely down the middle. He did his soul mate the favour of pushing all his equipment and notebooks and laptop and _is that a severed squid tentacle why in God's name is that still here_ and shoved them to the side of the room that looked the most like a tornado had ripped through it. He did his soul mate this favour because he was sure that if he didn't, today might be the day that he murdered his soul mate.

Hermann had been so scared that day after their first date of popping some irreparable bubble that he hadn't said anything when he walked in to the lab to see that the mess was very much so still there. On day three, he was slightly less scared and starting to get annoyed.

On day six, he was not at all scared and completely annoyed.

On day eight, the entire Shatterdome learned that sound could, in fact, carry all the way up two flights of stairs, a fact learned when Hermann finally lost it on his soulmate and they got into a screaming match on workplace propriety and cleanliness. Now, the Shatterdome, until that moment, was of course aware of the biologist who had taken up residency in his self-appointed K-Science Lab, if only because, for one, he was overly-friendly and eager to go out with drinks with everyone at any available opportunity, and for two, they could occasionally hear the music that he listened to just loud enough that it made its way up all the ducts and hallways between his workspace and theirs. But apparently even loud music couldn't carry the way that Hermann Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler's screaming voices could carry.

So, on day nine, the yellow tape went up.

Hermann had finished splitting the room all of fifteen minutes earlier and was sitting at his desk with papers strewn out in front of him in what might have seemed haphazardly to others, but made complete sense to him. He heard the lab doors open, and expected, after their fight the day before, for the biologist to make some snide remarks on the recent renovation. Instead, he seemed to completely ignore the tape and the mess and the instruments that had been unceremoniously shoved to one half of the room and walked over to Hermann, planting a kiss on the top of his head. Hermann forgot his annoyance for all of half a second, before he remembered the numerous conversations that he'd tried to have with Newt over the past handful of days about workplace propriety. These conversations usually took one of several forms, either of Hermann insisting on being called Dr. Gottlieb whenever he was within the work building and Newton completely ignoring this, or of Hermann trying (and only occasionally failing) to reject any forms of PDA at work, which, yes, Dr. Geiszler, did in fact include holding hands in the break room during lunch, thank you very much. Or, as the entire Shatterdome heard yesterday, of keeping the K-Science Lab clean and tidy, because he was, in fact, not the only person who worked within the room.

So Newton did know that Hermann preferred kisses be saved for before or after work, and Hermann knew that he'd have to fight tooth and nail for this rule to be respected.

Newton placed a mug with half-peeled away paint on Hermann's desk and sat on the edge. Hermann decided that he had bigger battles to fight today than the papers that were being crumpled underneath him.

"So I was thinking, you know, this facility has, what, a thousand workers? Two thousand? You've seen all of those, like, office cubicles and shit upstairs, haven't you?" His tone was so casual, so contrary to the anger that they had both left work with yesterday, that Hermann raised an eyebrow up at him and didn't bother to move the coffee mug from the edge where it was precariously balanced. "And, dude, have you noticed how international the entire staff is? So what I'm saying is, even though for some reason I've never noticed before, we can't be the only ones here who-" He looked up and across the room to the doors, and then, and only then, seemed to notice the changes that Hermann had made that morning. How someone could miss tape that shade of yellow going across the whole room was beyond him.

"What the fuck is up with this, dude?" He hopped off the desk, and for a moment, the statistician felt that another fight was certainly coming. Instead, Newton was carefully walking along the line, seeming to realize that every last piece of lab equipment and dissected animal that belonged to him (which was to say, every single piece of dissected animal that was within the lab) was cluttered up beyond one side of the line. He turned to Hermann, still sitting at his desk.

"Yes, well- it seemed that this was the most logical course of action. After yesterday's- well, after yesterday-" Newton didn't even flinch at this, didn't seem ashamed or scared of their blowout, which lent an odd sense of calm to Hermann- "this seemed to be the best way to concisely solve our- well, our space issue. This way, you can feel free to create whatever sort of mess your work requires, so long as you keep it on your side of the quite-visibly separated lab space." Hermann nodded decisively. It all made perfect sense to him, even if there was still some sense of embarrassment at the absolute age-inappropriate decision of 'you stay on your side of the room, I'll stay on mine.'

Newton threw his arms up in the air. "Really, dude? Is my mess that much of a-" One look at Hermann stopped that sentence short. He crossed his arms over his chest for all of two seconds, before pointing a finger at Hermann. "Fine! But this goes two ways, mister!" He wagged a finger back and forth between them. "I don't want any of your stuff on my side! You can keep your freaky big chalk board over there, and your chalk, and, and-" Hermann was pleased to see the very obvious realization that, by virtue, none of his things were messily spread throughout the whole room. All of his things had their place, and sat in their place. Newt's arm when up again and he huffed out an angry breath of air, some sort of mixture between a laugh and an angry exclamation. "Whatever, dude!"

Newt turned to his side of the lab and started organizing his mess. Or rather, organizing as much as was possible for the given mess and the given organizer.

Hermann figured that that was enough of that, and got back to work.

Well. Hermann figured that that was enough of that, and tried to get back to work.

He discovered very quickly that no amount of yellow tape could insulate sound, and no amount of yellow tape could stop Newton Geiszler playing the same playlist that he had been playing for the past handful of days. Hermann Gottlieb was tired of listening to songs that talked about "the creatures from above" and how the singer wasn't "like you guys."

He refused to listen to music about aliens at work.

"Dr. Geiszler, please!" Newt apparently didn't hear him, and Hermann honestly didn't even think that he could be ignoring him. The music was just so loud that Newt really couldn't hear him.

He grabbed his cane and angrily strode over to Newton, who was slouched in front of a computer, building a 3-D model of….something that Hermann couldn't even begin to guess at. It didn't look pleasant, though.

"Dr. Geiszler!"

Newton jumped and looked up from his computer screen. His glasses were pushed up on his head, pushing his bangs up messily. Maybe later, if Hermann was in a good mood, he'd tell him it was cute.

"Dr. Geiszler, please turn your music down. I don't know how many times I have to tell you that I can't think straight with this blasted nonsense blaring non-stop in my ears!"

Instead of answering or, say, turning down the blasted nonsense, Newt just stared up at him. After a solid five seconds of this, Hermann scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"I don't know why I ever expected you to lis-"

"Dude, you're on my side of the room."

Hermann looked down at his feet, as if he wasn't somehow already aware that he had crossed his own yellow line in order to be heard. He pressed his lips together and looked back up at Newton, who already had an infuriating grin working its way across his face.

"Look, this is your rule, not mine, but in all fairness, I did ask you to keep all your chalk and board and goodies on your side, and by your own arguments, your goodies do, in fact, include you."

Hermann's face went an embarrassing shade of pink, but he wouldn't be usurped like this. Not by someone who was currently listening to a song about aliens.

"I promise you, Dr. Geiszler, I'm only here because you seem to be unable to hear what I'm saying from a mere fifteen meters away because of this music that I've asked multiple times be turned down."

Instead of, say, turning the music down, which indeed, Hermann had been asking him to do for the better part of fifteen minutes now, Newt raised his hand, a little remote dangling between two fingers. On his face was what Hermann could only describe as a shit-eating grin. He pressed a button on the remote and the music stopped.

Hermann had a feeling it was too good to last.

"I promise you I haven't heard one peep from you about turning the music down."

Hermann didn't doubt that, given that he hadn't been acknowledged once since Newt had started ignoring him in a huff.

"But I don't think it's totally fair, dude, that you get a say in everything that goes on in this lab. You get to control how it sounds and how it looks?"

He was absolutely furious at this suggestion, as if it was controlling and out of the realm of common sense to ask that his work space not be loud and not be a total mess. He was about to tell the other just as such, along with where, precisely, he could shove his fairness, but Newt held up a finger.

"But! But. Relationships are all about compromise." Again, Hermann didn't bother to speak his thought on this, which was that having a decent work place wasn't the same thing as compromising in a relationship. "So I'll just listen to something a little quieter."

Hermann let out a relieved sigh. He could work with that, probably. So long as "a little quieter" didn't mean music that had people screaming in it, with the volume turned down a little. He was afraid that this was exactly what it meant, but he was hoping not.

"Thank you, Dr. Geiszler." He turned around. "Now if you'll excuse me- "

"Now hold on there, my guy." Right. Of course he wouldn't be allowed to work. He turned back around on his heel. "How can I be sure that it's a compromise if I don't know if you like the music?"

He had a sinking feeling that he wasn't going to like wherever this was going.

Newton clicked the remote and another song started, still at the same volume, but the beginning of the song was so soft and gentle that Hermann wouldn't have minded listening to more music like this. In fact, he could probably enjoy it.

"Hermann Gottlieb, can I have this dance?"

Right. There was that sinking feeling.

Now, Hermann Gottlieb would admit that he wasn't a total robot in the work place. He was only human, as much as he tried to fight it. He was lucky enough to work with his soulmate, true, but as he had insisted over and over again, he had worked far too hard for far too long to slip up and do something inappropriate in the workplace to get himself fired. That being said, he wasn't above occasionally- only occasionally! - not actually…totally flipping out on Newton when he managed to sneak a kiss in, or not immediately pulling away every single time he tried to grab his hand when they were walking out to lunch together.

But he thought small, sneaky things like that might be totally acceptable, especially when compared to how Newton was now standing up from his work table and offering a hand out to him. Hermann shook his head vehemently.

"Absolutely not, Dr. Geiszler! What if- "

"What if what, dude?" He snorted. "Not once this whole week has anyone actually come to check on us unless they desperately needed something. You're not gonna get caught, and even if you are, you're not gonna get fired, I promise."

Hermann found it difficult to believe that Newt could promise something like that, but when he was giving him those pathetic doe eyes and looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered at all in the world in that very moment….

He found his defense quickly crumbling.

"I don't- I just think that-"

Newton took his free hand and yanked him in.

"That's your problem, my dude. You think too much."

Well, he certainly couldn't argue with that.

Though Newt was no more than a dozen centimeters shorter than he was, the few times that they had danced together (usually a slow dance, while they waited for dinner to cook, in one of their living rooms, with very, very quiet music playing or, once, no music at all), his head was, within moments, lulling on Hermann's chest. Somehow, despite being in the completely wrong environment for this sort of gesture, he did the same thing.

The mathematician knew that he had been angry only a few moments before, but for now, he couldn't remember why, and found that he liked it better that way. He let Newton keep hold of one hand and wrap his other arm around his waist, and Hermann wrapped his free arm around the other's neck, leaning heavily on him in replacement of his cane. It wasn't so much of a slow dance as it was a tangled hug swaying to music, but he couldn't say he minded.

It was a song that he was familiar with, one that he knew was slow and a little old with a crooning voice, one with a fantastic title, one that reminded him that questions of science and progress didn't speak as loud as the heart.

It was good to be reminded of that every once in a while, even if he was at work while he was being reminded.

Especially because he was at work while he was being reminded.

He buried his nose in the top of Newt's messy, soft hair and planted a kiss on the very top of his head as the song slowly ended, the singer's voice crooning one last note. Newton lifted his head and looked up at him, giving him the sappiest look, eyes warm and soft and devoted, and Hermann hadn't even thought about his beloved work place propriety in over five minutes, so he leaned his head down and gave in to the kiss that he had known was coming since Newt had asked for the dance.

Indeed, he found that sometimes the universe seemed to know exactly what it was doing.

A throat being cleared in the lab doorway yanked him out of the absolute peace and calm that he had allowed himself to be lulled in to. In front of the closing doors stood one Raleigh Becket, one of the soldiers on the base.

"Dr. Gottlieb? I was wondering if you had those numbers that Pentecost asked you to crunch the other day."

Hermann hurriedly pushed Newton off of him, but kept one hand on his shoulder- professionally, of course, because right in that moment, he couldn't seem to remember where he had left that blasted cane. He could feel Newton laughing.

"Ranger Becket! Yes, of course, I'll just- I'll grab that spreadsheet and bring it up posthaste. Of course-"

Raleigh held up a hand, shaking his head with an expression on his face saying that not only was an explanation unnecessary, it was probably unwelcomed. Also, he was definitely laughing at them. "Sure thing, Dr. Gottlieb. I'll just- I'll just head up to his office and tell him that you'll be up…posthaste."

He turned and left the lab, and all of the sound insulation in the world couldn't stop the sounds of his laughter from carrying down the hall.


	6. Chapter 6

Three months and fourteen days into their courtship, the two had found a rhythm.

Well, as much of a rhythm as could be found between them.

Their days usually consisted of either arguing with each other, trying to ignore each other, or Hermann trying to reject Newton's advances in the hallways, in the breakroom, even in the lab, if the smell of whatever he was working on wasn't foul enough that the mathematician glowered at him if he so much as came within two feet of crossing their room division.

Every once in a while, they both actually got some work done while they were at work.

Their nights usually consisted of watching a movie or making dinner (or more often than not, both) over at one of their apartments, unless their fight(s) that day was bad enough that they both felt the need to cool down independently for the night.

Three months and fourteen days of this, and Newton Geiszler didn't know if it would ever be possible to be happier in his lifetime.

On the third month and fourteenth night, Newt was the one hosting their meal, though he had to admit, it really and truly made absolutely no difference which of them hosted, whose apartment they went to at night, so long as Newton got to see him and hang out with him and hold his hand and, oh yes, kiss him. It was much easier to do these things in their apartments, because Hermann wouldn't fuss with him about being "inappropriate" if they weren't at work. It was no issue to do these things, either, Newt had noted, when they went out to dinner, or went out to a movie. He had learned that it really was just while they were at work that Hermann had an issue with these things.

He had learned this, but whether or not he put this knowledge to use was another matter.

(He didn't- he often ignored or forgot that he wasn't, in fact, supposed to hold Hermann's hand while they were on their lunch break at the Shatterdome.)

On that third month and fourteenth night, Newton was standing at his island kitchen, dicing a potato, while Hermann was at his sink, scrubbing another one free from dirt and then peeling the skin off and sending it down the garbage disposal. There was a movie playing on his television in the living room, but it was one both of them had already seen before, so they weren't worried about missing the beginning bits while they prepped dinner.

He dumped a handful of potato chunks into a bowl and poured olive oil over them, humming a bit, rather quietly, to himself. He dumped in spices and herbs and just a splash (okay, a little more than a splash) of wine, and leaned against the kitchen island, waiting and watching his soulmate mutter to himself as he held a potato rather close to his face.

Hermann, perfectionist that he was, was taking forever to peel each potato, making sure not one scrap of skin was left before he handed each piece over. Newt should have known that this was how he handled food, but it caught him by surprise each time. Newt pushed himself up from the island and shimmied over to his side, wrapping one arm around the other's waist. The statistician leaned heavily against him, preferring to use him as a support instead of the hard countertop corner.

"It's not going to, like, turn into a frog prince if you keep staring at it like that, dude." Hermann gave him a confused look that he just waved away. "It's fine just the way it is, if we keep waiting for the perfect potato we're never gonna eat." He snatched the offending vegetable out of Hermann's hand and brought it to the island to keep dicing. He just needed to finish this bit up, and then they could watch their movie while dinner cooked.

Hermann grabbed his cane and, complaining only a little, made his way out to the living room, where Newt was sure he'd find him with his butt making itself a comfortable dent in his couch and his legs up on the coffee table. Newt made sure to hurry through finishing the potatoes and getting them into the oven so that he could join him.

When everything was prepped and cooking, he did just that, wiping his hands off on his jeans and going to join the other. He snuck up behind the back of the couch, then wrapped his arms around Hermann's shoulders, pulling the back of his head to his chest and looming over him to place half an upside-down kiss on his forehead. "Dinner should be ready in half an hour." He hopped over the back of the couch- well, didn't hop, so much as stuck one leg over the back, then tried to get the other up, then got the other leg stuck, then flopped over the back of the couch- and landed half in Hermann's lap, which was fine, because that was his goal destination anyway, even if the other wasn't too happy with how he got there. He left out a huff of air as Newt's head landed heavily on his legs. Newt scooted down the couch and stretched his body out, but kept his head in the other's lap.

Hermann's fingers went straight to his hair, carding through it, tugging on a few unruly locks. Newt thought idly about how it was probably time for a haircut. He rolled on to his back so that he could look up at Hermann- the movie played in the background, just there to provide something to look at, if either of them really felt like it. Newton thought he had better things to look at.

"Mako and Raleigh were wondering if we wanted to go to their place for brunch this weekend," Hermann noted in a conversational tone. "Well, Mako was wondering. I have a feeling Raleigh wasn't exactly privy to the invitation, not that he'd have an issue."

Raleigh Becket didn't seem to Newton like the sort of person to invite people over for brunch, but his soulmate, Mako Mori, certainly did, and certainly without asking her husband. Mako Mori wasn't the sort of person who asked anyone for permission.

Newton laughed. "Did you say yes? I've sort of been super fuckin' curious about what their house looks like. Can you even imagine it? Like I bet they have a whole wall made of just windows and it, like, overlooks a bay or something. On their salaries, I'm sure it's something extravagant and, like, unnecessary."

Hermann hummed. "I said yes, because I like to be polite and I like to see our friends, not because I want to snoop around their home."

Newton gasped in mock offense. "I didn't say snoop! I just want to see it, like the outside! Also the inside. And the backyard, maybe, if they have one. Also, I bet they have about twenty guest bedrooms. And I want to know what sort of shower they have in the master bedroom, cos I can almost guarantee there's one shower and one separate tub."

"So you want to snoop?"

"No-!" Hermann laughed at him, and he laughed, too, partly because at least he knew he was being ridiculous, even if he never, ever admitted it, and also because Hermann's laugh was incredibly infectious. As was his smile.

He laughed, and he grabbed Hermann's hand out of his hair, and he held his hand to lips for a kiss, then held it to his chest, sitting over his beating heart, while watching Hermann's eyes crinkle up as he laughed, too. He closed his eyes, a goofy grin still on his face, and figured he'd take a little nap while they waited for dinner.

"Hey, Newton?"

Newt cracked an eye open, then both, looking up at Hermann, eyes soft and warm and just…. looking.

"Hey, Hermann?"

"I love you."

He stared up at him.

Newt had supposed it had always gone without saying, and had never, honestly, given a thought to hearing it. He thought it was obvious- they had been such a perfect match, really since day one (or maybe about ten minutes in to day one, after he got over the shock of having those words said to him in that way). Their first date had been perfect, as had every day after. They just fell in to the relationship so naturally, he really didn't know (and really didn't care) if it was because they really were so perfect for each other that these things came so naturally, or because they had just known that they were soulmates from the beginning, so there was no use in fighting it, or if maybe it was some mixture of the two. All that he knew was that he hadn't even thought about those words because everything was so, so perfect that they just hadn't occurred to him.

He didn't think anything of not hearing it up until now. He didn't think anything of not having said it, because he thought it went without saying.

And yet-

And yet.

And yet, now that he had heard it, it filled him with such a surprising warmth and such a surprising pleasant flutter in his stomach that it seemed just so right to have it be said out loud.

He thought of every dumb work fight, about arguing over music or personal space or asking permission before stealing each other's favorite pens. He thought about every night that he had spent alone because he couldn't stand to look at the other, he was so angry and so upset with him and so goddamn mad that as perfectly as they understood each other, Hermann sometimes just couldn't let things go and leave him be.

He thought about every kiss, about holding hands while they walked through a park even though it was so cold that it would have made much more sense to keep their fingers in their pockets instead of tangled with each other's'. He thought of three months' worth of sitting on the couch, just like tonight, not rushing anything, watching dumb movies that they had or hadn't seen a hundred times before, because it didn't matter what they watched, they'd either dub over the actual movie, or make up lines, or not watch the screen at all, instead kissing and stealing air from each other's' lungs until the oven timer told them that it was time to eat, and they either untangled to eat, or didn't, leaving dinner to burn in favor of keeping their lips locked just a little bit longer, just a little bit longer, just a little bit longer.

He reached up to cup a hand along Hermann's jawline and thought about how he never wanted to spend a lifetime without this man.

"I love you, too."

Dinner burned just a little bit that night.


	7. Chapter 7

After five months of dating, Hermann Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler decided to move in together.

There was no good timeline for this sort of thing- sometimes soulmates moved in together the week that they met, sometimes they waited years and years, sometimes they never moved in together at all (a decision Hermann would respect and admire on the worst of days, when they'd had another one of their fights and he couldn't imagine the thought of going home with the person that he was so absolutely annoyed with). Like most other things in life, it depended on a mutual understanding from everyone involved, on communication and open expectation, on what felt right for the couple.

They both felt that they'd waited long enough.

They decided to move in to Newton's apartment, as it was at least twice as large as Hermann's and a smidge closer to the Shatterdome. Buying a whole new house seemed unnecessary and unrealistic to the both of them, whenever they talked about it- they could probably afford one, sure, but neither had a need for so much extra space, neither had a need to move to an unfamiliar place. Instead, they'd pack most of Hermann's things into boxes and both would consolidate their belongings (Newt much more so than Hermann, whose apartment was nearly as immaculate as his work space, while Newt had learned the hard way one week that Hermann wouldn't visit him at home if he insisted on leaving empty pizza boxes piled up in the kitchen and heaps of books to be tripped over in the hallway).

Newt discovered that week that while he was fine with their arguments about his work space at work, he would go through the symptoms of withdrawal if he couldn't see Hermann in the afterhours.

They spent a weekend packing up Hermann's things, and he found it much easier than he thought it would be to throw the few things out that he no longer had use for- old text books that he felt a certain kinship to at one point that would now be donated to the used bookstore at the local college, a laptop that he'd been meaning to get rid of that he always felt he needed to save one more old paper from the hard drive of, which would be given to Pentecost for his teenage son to use when he started school. They brought the boxes to Newt's apartment- their apartment, now- where they sat for another week, to be unpacked on their weekend off.

On the Friday before they got around to unpacking, they fought. Fighting was nothing new, but Hermann was finding that little things from the previous few days really added up when your home wasn't your own separate space to cool down and ignore the person who kept goading you towards the edge then throwing you over it. So when they fought on Friday, they fought loud. They fought angry. They fought so angry that Newton stormed out of the lab at 2 in the afternoon and didn't come back for the rest of the day. Newt or Hermann often left after a fight to go for a walk, either around the building or outside, if it wasn't too cold or too windy or there wasn't too much snow. But they'd come back, and if it wasn't one of the nastier fights, they'd both pretend it had never happened. If it was nasty, it would be a night that they didn't spend together.

But they always came back to work.

When Newt didn't immediately come back, Hermann wasn't worried. He didn't blame him, as angry as he was; knowing that they'd have to see each other at home, even if only for a moment before Newt slammed and locked the bedroom door behind him and Hermann locked himself up in the study, he couldn't blame him for taking some extra time to cool down.

When he still hadn't come back by five, he was a little worried.

He hung out for another half an hour, finishing up some paperwork that he otherwise would have left for Monday. When Newt still didn't reappear, he packed his bag, pulled on his parka, and headed home.

It was a long, lonely walk- usually he had Newt for company, for someone to lean on instead of his cane, but he had to make the trek alone this time. It was only a few blocks, but some mixture of his leg acting up and trepidation made the walk take twice as long as it normally did.

He thought about the fights that they had had earlier in the week. On Monday, Newt was trying to be coy about something, he didn't remember what, if he ever found out, but he did remember the half a cup of coffee that got spilled on his desk in the process. After they cleaned up the mess, and Hermann found that no important papers were beyond repair, he was annoyed, but not mad. On Wednesday morning, Hermann was halfway up the ladder for his giant chalkboard, trying to work through some numbers, when Pentecost poked his head through the lab doors to ask him a question. Hermann didn't remember what the question was, just that he had to yell to be heard from the other side of the lab and half a dozen metes off the ground. It didn't seem like a big deal in the moment, so he had been surprised when Newt yelled at him about it later, telling him that if he wanted to have a conversation with someone, he was more than welcome to walk down his ladder and talk to the person face-to-face, instead of yelling across the lab when someone else was trying to work. Hermann got mad at that, as if Newt had space to talk about being loud in the lab, and told him as much. Wednesday afternoon, they fought again, about something no doubt stupid yet such an utter annoyance that he could feel something brewing inside him. He couldn't even remember the fight from Thursday, he was sure the smallest thing had set them both off by that point, but they'd both abandoned the lab at some point that day to take their own walks, then ignored each other again at home, Hermann taking the bedroom and Newton staying on the couch all night.

And so, when they fought on Friday, they fought loud. They fought angry. And now Hermann was walking home alone.

He didn't think he could miss Newton so soon, but the oddity of not seeing him again at work was gnawing some hole of worry in his chest. He was still annoyed, sure, and was still sure he wouldn't be apologizing any time soon, if at all. But he was worried, now, too.

When he got to the front of the apartment building, he shifted through his keys for one of the two newer ones that he had, unlocking the front door and stepping in to the lobby. He made his way over to the elevator, pressed the 'up' key, and waited.

Maybe he was expecting Newt to come in to the lobby while he waited, or to be heading down in the elevator while he was heading up. But Newt didn't walk into the building as he waited, and didn't walk out of the elevator when the doors opened. He stepped on, pressed the button for their floor, and waited again.

Maybe he would be sitting outside their apartment door? No, the hallway was empty, and he fixed the bag on his shoulder as he reached again for the keys in his pocket and sorted through them for the second of the two newer ones that he had. He unlocked the door, and the lights in the apartment were off.

"Newton?" No answer. He turned on the lights, stepping around some of the boxes that they had left in the foyer. Boxes were all around the apartment, mostly being left in whatever room most of their contents would go in. He kicked them out of the way and hung up his coat. He dropped his bag on the kitchen island, and when he heard a shuffling noise behind him, he found a certain sense of relief spread through his chest when he saw Newt standing in the doorway.

Neither said a word to the other for a long moment, but when Newt sniffled, and Hermann saw the red under his eyes, his heart broke, and he walked around the island, one hand gripping it to keep himself up, until he could reach out to Newt, who held both arms out. Hermann fell into them.

Newt hugged around his middle, tight and close and warm, and Hermann hugged the other's head to his chest, Newt's nose pressed against his shirt, hands balled up in the fabric at the back. Hermann rested his chin on top of Newt's head and squeezed his eyes shut.

Apologizing out loud felt so unnecessary, but he had to do it.

"I'm so sorry, my love, my dear heart." He squeezed him impossibly tighter, pressing to the top of his head less of a kiss and more of a desperate plea for forgiveness. Newt didn't say a word, but shook his head. There was nothing to forgive if they both had been so horrible to each other, right? Surely the actions cancelled themselves out.

They stayed like that, clinging to each other and swaying in the kitchen doorway, for so long that the sun had set and the apartment was mostly dark by the time they detangled. Hermann cupped Newt's jaw and pulled him in for a soft, long kiss.

"Let's order a pizza and take a look at some of those boxes, okay?" Newt nodded and took his hand, helping him to the bedroom.

While Hermann sat on the phone with their local delivery place, Newt went to the bathroom, and the mathematician took the time to dig through some of the boxes in the bedroom, trying to find a particular one. When he couldn't find it, he assumed the box had been mixed up in the shuffle and was probably out in the living room. That was fine- it could wait.

He gripped the bed as he sank to the floor, then pulled a box to his lap. He could already tell that they'd be throwing out or donating even more things than what hadn't made it out of his apartment. Surely they had no need for more bedroom lamps, or more alarm clocks, or more empty picture frames.

Newt walked out of the bathroom and grabbed a box that had been half-tucked under the bed, then sat down on the duvet to look through it. They worked through their boxes quietly, Hermann making piles on the floor of things that he really ought to keep and things that, on second glance, would just clutter up their space. Newt made his way through his own box, and after fifteen minutes, seemed to have it finished. He stood up, stretched, pet a hand through Hermann's hair, and went to toss the box in with the recyclables.

He picked up the box, and Hermann heard something clattering around in it. Newt wrinkled up his nose, confused, and stuck a hand into the box, fishing around for the offending item.

When he pulled it out, Hermann's heart dropped.

In Newt's hand sat a little black velvet box.

Newt stared at it, seemingly confused and taking a long, long moment to realize what it was. Not long enough, though, because as quickly as Hermann tried to lean up and snatch it from his hand, by the time he was shoving it into his pocket, Newt's face was cleared as a sense of clarity and understanding came over it.

Shit.

"Wha-"

Nope! Hermann turned back to his box, very much so ignoring the heat that was rising in his cheeks. No such luck. Quietly, slowly, like he was worried about spooking some sort of woodland creature, Newt sat back down on the bed, next to where Hermann's back was leaned against it, steadfastly ignoring him.

"Herms…" Shit!

He sighed and dropped his head back against the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut, took in a deep breath, then let it out shakily, a just-as-shaky hand reaching back into his pocket to pull the box out. He held it in his hands for a long, long moment, until the velvet started to warm up from his skin.

Awkwardly, he pushed himself up on to his knees, leaning heavily on the left. His put his hands in Newton's lap, one hand squeezing a thigh. Understanding, but wanting enough for the both of them for this to happen, Newt brushed his fingers first against Hermann's cheek, then through his hair, then against the tip of his ear.

Hermann took in another deep, shaky breath. He opened the box.

"Newton Geiszler, will you marry me?"

Newt took the box from his hands, laying it down, carefully, on the bed next to him. This didn't make Hermann at all nervous, but he couldn't fight the confusion off his face as, instead of taking the ring or immediately bursting out an answer, Newt took both of his hands in his own, pulling him half up, until he could stand all the way up on his own. He loomed over the other, watching his face for any sign, anything at all, an eye twitch, a smile, a grin- something.

Newt quirked up his lip and reached in to his own pocket.

Hermann almost fell over when Newt pulled his own little black velvet box out of his pocket. His mind went blank for half a moment, before filling with something that made him laugh out loud, gently, quietly, but definitely out loud. Newt let go of his other hand and opened the box.

"I've been thinking about it for a while now, a couple of weeks, maybe, but after today…." Hermann's stomach dropped to the floor, so scared of what was going to be said next. "After today, I was so furious with you I couldn't think straight. I went outside and started walking, and I just….I couldn't stop. I probably walked two or three miles before I realized it. And…and then I was in front of a jewelry store. And I was still so mad at you, but there was this ring in the window, and I just- I saw it, and I thought of you. Right away, I thought of you and what you'd say about it. I was sure you'd have some sort of formula or something about the cut and the dimensions and the angles and- just, I know you. I knew you'd find the math in it, somehow." Hermann's chest squeezed, a little because of what Newt was saying, a little because Newt was so obviously starting to cry as he said it, and Hermann was sure he was going to be crying soon, too, because he could feel it in his heart. "I thought about you and how you'd find the math and I was still so, so mad at you, but then I realized I was mad at you, not anyone else, and there wasn't anyone else in the world that I'd want to have a fight like this with, because I knew you'd forgive me. After the shit I said today, no one else would ever talk to me again, let alone let me apologize and want to live with me and want to love me. But you did- you do. You came home tonight. You came back to our home. You came back to me." They were both crying now.

Newt took the ring out of his box, then grabbed Hermann's off of the bed and offered it back to him. Hermann took it and took the ring out.

"Hermann Gottlieb, will you marry me?"

Hermann laughed, even though he was crying. He laughed and took his ring out of his box, then offered his left hand to Newton. Newt slipped the ring on to his finger, then offered his own hand up. Hermann slipped the ring on, then pulled him up, then pulled him in, and then they were gasping against each other's lips, laughing and crying, until they could get themselves under enough control for a proper kiss. Hermann ran his thumbs along Newt's jaw, and Newt tangled fingers in his hair and pushed gently against the back of his head, holding him in place. As if either ever had to worry about the other pulling away.

They stayed like that, swaying in their bedroom, stealing air from each other first desperately, then languidly, until they could hear a knock at the front door. They ignored it for all of twenty seconds, until Newt's stomach growled, and Hermann remembered that neither of them had eaten lunch that day, and he thought that he wouldn't blame a delivery person for leaving if they were ignored for so long. He pulled away, went back in for a peck, went back in for something a little longer and a little more satisfying, then pushed Newt out the bedroom door to go get their dinner. He watched him go down the hallway, his face oh so gentle with a smile, before turning back to the boxes on the floor.

He had a feeling they were done unpacking for the night.


	8. Chapter 8

Newt was finding out the hard way that, while absence might make the heart grow fonder, it sure was fucking lonely.

He muttered to himself angrily as he yanked his shoes off in their foyer, letting them thud to the floor and not bothering to tidy them up the way Hermann would want him to. He didn't have to tidy them up the way Hermann would want him to when Hermann wasn't even home.

He shuffled straight for the kitchen, tossing his keys in a bowl sitting by the landline phone. What was for dinner? Hm. He threw open all of the cabinets, digging, looking for something that looked even vaguely appealing, and when he couldn't find anything that met even those standards, grabbed a box of graham crackers and headed for the couch.

Hermann had been gone on a business trip for exactly three days now and Newt was going absolutely insane. He'd found out the hard way that, over the last few months, Hermann had become a large part of his self-restraint. Things like eating a box of saltines for dinner no longer phased him as an unhealthy thing to do. Things like not cleaning the bed after spilling crumbs all over the sheets were much easier to get away with when you weren't scolded for it. He fell into the couch and flicked on the TV.

At least being home alone meant he could watch whatever he wanted without being scolded for being a fully grown adult who still watched cartoons.

He could also take as long of a shower as he wanted (even if he had to take that shower alone), and take as long as he wanted in the bathroom even after he was out of the shower, and could grab a bowl of cereal and bring it to the bedroom because, really, a box of saltines wasn't at all filling.

He was allowed to be totally bored out of his mind.

In theory, he could go out to a bar or something, and maybe he'd do that tomorrow night, but he was hard pressed to go out when he hadn't asked anyone to go with him earlier that day. Who would he even go out for drinks with right now? Maybe Tendo, the J-technician who worked up on the third floor. He was a pretty fun guy. But he had a newborn at home right now, so Newt had a feeling that going out with him took weeks of planning ahead of time.

It was while he was changing into something for bed that his phone rang. He scrambled the shirt over his head- an old thing of Hermann's, worn soft by years of use and probably twice as long as what Newt usually wore- and flopped down on the bed before answering the call.

They'd been talking on the phone for the past few nights, but Newt had finally complained enough for Hermann to cave in to a video call. It was close to midnight for Newton, which mean Hermann was probably heading to his hotel room for dinner. Strict as he was, he admitted that the only thing he might ever enjoy about work conferences was being able to order room service whenever he wanted and have it all charged to a company card that the Shatterdome had given him.

Newt lit up when Hermann's face appeared on the phone, but his fiancé had his trademark scowl on his face. He could hear the television in the background- something German, maybe one of the local news stations in Berlin? Newt had been endlessly jealous when he learned that the other was going back to their home country for a week, and better yet, was being paid to go.

"What's up, buttercup? Tough day at work?"

Hermann scoffed and squinted at his screen. "Hardly. I can't see you, Newton. Is your camera on? Or are you just sitting in a dark room?"

Oh! Newt stretched out and reached for the bedside lamp, clicking it on. Better!

He sat up on the bed and grinned maniacally, holding the phone close to his face. They'd been texting non-stop- well, Newt had been texting non-stop, with Hermann courteously replying once every twenty or so messages to tell him to stop pestering him at work- for two days now, but Newt missed the other's face. Phone calls and texting weren't the same as sharing a home.

Well, neither was a video call, but it would have to hold him over for another few days.

Hermann graced him with a small smile, seeming to lean back on the couch that he was sitting on. "I'd ask you how your day was, but I feel like I was right there with you, since you insist on texting me every time the most menial thing pops up. Really, I don't need to know that Marshal Hansen brought his dog to work today."

Newt stuck out his bottom lip in what might have seemed like a comical satire of a pout to anyone who didn't know him better.

Hermann knew him better, and knew that it wasn't satire.

"But he was so cute! I mean, I know, biologically speaking, a lot of dog species like bulldogs and pugs are an absolute monstrosity that man has played God with until they're completely dependent on us for basic necessities like breathing, but-! Max is so cute! Herc brought him in to the cafeteria today-" He didn't let Hermann get a word in edgewise, because he was sure that he'd have something to say about having an animal around food, especially a sloppy, drooly animal like Max Hansen- "and everyone was completely losing it over him! You should have seen it! I didn't think it was possible to see Chuck smile, that man seems like he always has a stick up his butt, and I'd know what I'm talking about here, I'm marrying you, after all-" and here he really didn't let Hermann get a word in- "but he lit up when he saw his dad bring that scruffy guy through!"

Maybe it was how absolutely, obviously excited Newton was about seeing a dog in the workplace, but Hermann didn't bother with berating him. He laughed a little and Newt felt an ache in his chest, a bitter sweet hollow feeling; seeing Hermann laugh was good, not being able to see him laugh face to face was bad. He let out a heavy sigh and said as much.

"I miss you, dude."

He curled up on the bed and flopped his face into a pillow- not his pillow, of course- but decided quickly that he couldn't see Hermann well enough that way, so he rolled on to his back. He was pleased to hear Hermann let out a little sigh.

"I'm afraid I miss you, too. One of the interns said that the Green–Tao theorem had been proven in the 90s and I didn't have anyone that I could yell at about it without being fired." Newt laughed.

Hermann rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "Still, I'm getting lots of work done out here. It's easy enough, when I don't have an obnoxious lab mate who insists on making sure I get as little work done as possible."

Newt let out a scandalized gasp. "Hey! I resent that comment!"

Hermann laughed. "You are free to resent the comment when we can go a full eight hour shift without you interrupting me in some form or fashion." Newt groaned and slapped a hand over his face.

"It doesn't count as an interruption if I'm, like, reminding you that you need to eat lunch at some point during the day!" That much was true. Newt often had to physically pull Hermann away from his computer or chalkboard because it was well past a decent lunch time and he hadn't taken a break since he'd gotten to the lab that morning.

Hermann sniffed his nose up indignantly. "Maybe so. But it does count if I have to stop my work because you keep throwing animal organs on to my side of the room and refuse to clean them up after yourself."

That was fair.

Newt laughed again. After a moment of settling down, Hermann cleared his throat.

"I wanted to talk to you about…about our fight. The one last month." It wasn't hard to know which 'one' he meant- though their fights hadn't ceased since their proposals, nothing had come close to the explosion that had happened that day. Newt was sure that it would be "The Fight" for the foreseeable future.

He swallowed nervously.

"Uh- okay. You, uh- okay. You do? Huh. What- what about it?"

Hermann didn't look like he was handling his nerves much better. Newt wondered why this conversation couldn't wait until he got home, or why it didn't happen before he left- but then again, it was easier for him to avoid eye contact when it was just a phone call. Hermann probably had the same thought. The mathematician took a deep breath.

"I just…want to talk about it. About what we said. I think- I think it's only healthy, to….to acknowledge what we said to each other. I know we were angry and jumpy because we were getting used to living together, but…but we both said some pretty hurtful things to each other. And I…I want to make sure it doesn't happen again. Or at least, if it does happen again, maybe we can work on letting things out….a little healthier. In- In a healthier way, I mean." Newt didn't know if Hermann was even looking at him as he said this, because Newt sure wasn't looking at the screen.

He sat up and fiddled with a chip on his phone case. "Is this- is this because of what I said about you being- being a loser? Cos, uh, you know- I totally didn't mean it. I was just angry, and I- I knew that that would make you angrier, and I wanted you to be angrier, because- because you weren't. Angry, I mean. At least- not as angry as I was. And I just-! I mean- I wanted to make you angry. Usually, when we fight, I don't- I don't want to make you angry. I mean, I know I do, but it's not- that's not what I usually want. It just- happens. But this time I was trying to do it and I did it and I made you mad and I made you mad because I knew what would make you mad and I knew what would make you mad because you told me that you hated being reminded that you were picked on so I said it and I knew it would make you angry and-" 

"Newton!"

Newt took a deep breath- he often spoke so fast and had so much to say that it wasn't until after his tirade ended that he realized he was short of breath because the air had emptied out of his lungs halfway through a rant.

"I'm not- yes, that's what I want to talk about. I don't need to relive it- I know why you did it. I forgave you, but I just…want to talk about it. I want to make sure it doesn't happen again. And- and I know I said some pretty awful things, too."

That was true- they'd both been pretty horrible to each other. Newt had started the fight- well, had started the angriest part of the fight-, but Hermann sure had continued it. Newt knew that making fun of Hermann for being teased would hurt him, and Hermann knew that telling Newt that he was just as annoying as he was always afraid of being. It had somehow been all downhill from there.

"I just… I know it wasn't a good thing to do- obviously- but… I really want to make sure he doesn't happen again. We've done a pretty good job of not keeping things pent up at work or at home, and I want… I want to make sure we at least acknowledge that we're trying to keep a fiasco like that from happening again."

Newt nodded vehemently. "Absolutely-!" He could absolutely do that. Even though they'd made up weeks ago, he still felt guilty over the things he'd said. He could feel the guilt lifting off his chest just by talking about it. Who knew?

"I'm….really sorry about what I said, dude. I really am. It was mean and cruel and nasty and just, like, totally unnecessary. Uh- I've been- I've been working on walking away when I think I'm even starting to get close to that point. Can I- I want to tell you, when I walk away… Like, I'll walk around the Shatterdome, cos fuck it's too cold to go outside right now- so I'll walk around the Shatterdome, and there's this neat like bench in front of one of the windows on the 17th floor- so, I'll- I'll sit there, sometimes. When I'm really…uh, cranky, I guess would be a fair word. When I can tell that if I keep hanging around the lab, I'll say something I regret. And- you can see Victoria Bay from the window, and that little park- you know the one? We walked through it to go home on our first date. Of course you- of course you know it. You know, we still walk through it- of course you know it. But I'll look out the window and try to calm myself down. And sometimes- sometimes, but not, like, always- I look at- at my engagement ring. I look at it, and I tell myself- or at least try to tell myself, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't- I'll tell myself that it's stupid. You know? Fighting is stupid. I mean, sometimes it's okay, sometimes it's a little healthy- I think. I think sometimes fighting means we're still human. If that makes sense- like, we might be soulmates, but we're still human. But sometimes, fighting it stupid, because we're soulmates. That doesn't make sense, does it? Heh. Fighting is good cos we're human but it's also stupid cos we're soulmates. But, I mean- it's stupid cos no matter what, we're still going to love each other. And fuck, dude, I love you so much. You're the only one I want to fight with- like, yeah, I definitely fight with other people, like hello, did you see that dumbass Chuck Hansen with his stupid broken hand the other day? And I told him he was being a dumbass for not going to the infirmary and he yelled at me and I yelled at him- but like. I don't want to fight with Chuck. I couldn't care less if I never fight with Chuck again. But- but when we fight, me an' you, it's not just fighting. It's you telling me I'm wrong about something- which I never am!- or it's- It's me telling you to just enjoy some tunes for, like, all of ten minutes instead of freaking out on me for listening to music at work-! I just… I tell myself that fighting with you is okay, to a certain extent, but it's stupid, too, because I got this fuckin' ring on my finger that tells me you love me and you got that ring on your finger that tells you that I love you, so having a big, explosive fight like that is stupid cos we love each other and- and there's better ways to fix our problems than yelling at each other about dumb shit. No that my music is dumb-"

He sniffled, and realized at this point that he was crying. Just a little, though- he was glad to be talking about this, but damn if it didn't make him realize that he'd been keeping all of this to himself. He looked at his phone screen, but Hermann had his hand over his face. Damn if Newt couldn't tell that Hermann was trying not to cry, even from 9,000 kilometers away.

He scrubbed at his face, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. After a long moment, Hermann sniffled, too, and lowered his hand. He wasn't crying, but Newt knew he was close.

"I'm not…mad at you. Not any more, at least. You know I was furious that day, obviously. But I've just been…upset. A little hurt, I suppose. I know you didn't say those things on purpose- or, rather, you very much so said them on purpose, but you never would when you're in your right mind. I know you wouldn't usually say those things, but the fact that you did for the express purpose of hurting me left me…wounded, I suppose I'd say. And I do trust you, I trust that it won't happen again. So I've been working on…healing that wound. But- thank you. Thank you for apologizing. It…it helps. It'll help. I'll stop thinking about it, because now I know you're working on making sure it doesn't happen again."

Hermann looked down, and Newt could tell he was picking at some stray piece of thread on his pants. He always did that when he wanted to be methodical about his feelings, but some part of him knew that there were things you just couldn't be scientific about.

"And… I also apologize. About what I said. I called you annoying because I knew that that was what you were most sensitive about, and you did make me angry, and you hit me where it truly hurt, so I- I wanted to do the same back to you. And I apologize for that."

Newt sniffled again, and wiped his nose on the back of his hand, and thank god Hermann wasn't in the room with him or even looking at him that very moment, because he could tell he'd have something to say about that.

"Thank- thank you. For saying that, I mean. Thank you for apologizing." Newt cleared his throat and Hermann finally looked up again. "Can we- can we talk about something else now? I really miss you and I'm just feeling more miserable now."

They both laughed, and Hermann moved the subject on to something that had happened at a conference that day. They talked for an hour more, until Hermann, interrupting something that he'd been in the middle of saying, asked him what time it was. After Newt admitted that it was almost one in the morning, Hermann yelled at him about sleeping past his alarm and being late for work, which just wouldn't look good, because surely then everyone at the lab would know that he really was useless if Hermann wasn't there.

Newt laid back down on the bed, rolling on to his stomach. "I promise I won't be more than, like, an hour late tomorrow. Maybe two? Who knows, man, I'm pretty tired-" He let out a yawn and stretched- "-but I've been stuck talking to this total nerd for over an hour now. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's a total babe, but still a nerd, and I-"

"Okay! Thank you! You may go to bed now, I dismiss you!"

Newt laughed on last time and cooed at his screen.

"Aaaw, thanks, babe. I miss you, too. I love you, go eat something except room service tomorrow night, please."

He could tell that Hermann was gearing up an argument against that, and he really was tired and didn't want to spend the next half hour hearing about how, "really, it truly isn't that bad to spoil oneself every once in a while, thank you very much," so he blew Hermann a big, wet kiss, and ended the call.

He reached over to turn off the lamp, and counted all the way to fifteen before he received an angry text.

 _I have not been eating just room service, thank you very much!_

He counted, again, and got up to ten.

 _I love you, too. I'll see you in a few days._


End file.
